I fly up high with my little eye. For the sky, I am quite the reacher. But I can cause you to let out a sigh when I'm done by a boring teacher.

If you love me, avoid bottles and gifts of fire.

A measuring cup, piano, and most fish have this in common.

I'm a newfangled whosie whatsit like a thingy detector, If you're stumped, go go and ask a certain inspector.

From round to long, I change my shape, one of me’s known for a missing escape. I sweeten the morning, lure kids from their beds, their feet find the table before sleep leaves their heads. With coffee or juice or tea I agree, always delicious, ask Homer, ask me. So what am I called, with flavors still growing, a treat much beloved and forever worth knowing?